


Obsidian Walls

by Just_A_Lizard



Series: Mmmm Ranboo angst [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, He's Baby, Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), I'm so happy I get to use it, Mans needs them, Mental Instability, Panic Attacks, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Someone give him some friends, That's my favorite trope, Unreliable Narrator, memory problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Lizard/pseuds/Just_A_Lizard
Summary: Stumbling towards his safe room, Ranboo tried desperately to remember what he was running from, the memories quickly slipping from his grasp. (Explosions and voices still rang through his ears, leftover panic fueling his mad dash to the room.)Something had gone very wrong.A.K.A Tall Enderman Child has a Morality Crisis
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Ranboo, Niki | Nihachu & Ranboo, Ranboo & Philza, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Ranboo
Series: Mmmm Ranboo angst [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196297
Comments: 5
Kudos: 438





	Obsidian Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Haha Ranboo angst pog

It had been a bad day. (Had it?) Something bad had happened. (But was it really that bad?) Ranboo was running. What had happened?

Stumbling towards his safe room, Ranboo tried desperately to remember what he was running from, the memories quickly slipping from his grasp. (Explosions and voices still rang through his ears, leftover panic fueling his mad dash to the room.) 

Something had gone very wrong. 

Ranboo jumped down and landed in the small obsidian room. The black walls immediately filled him with a sense of security paired with the knowledge that no one knew where he was. He tried to slow down his racing thoughts by reading the signs that had been written on the walls, the trusted words giving him some semblance of calm. 

**Don’t choose sides, choose people.**

**Dream is the reason.**

**You are fine.**

(Was he fine? He must be. It’s on the signs.)

A jukebox embedded in the floor sat empty. Ranboo wasn’t sure if he had a disc on him.  _ Probably not _ , he thought, carefully sitting down next to the box. He would remember if he had a disc. (Mellohi sat in his inventory, untouched.)

What was he doing here? How did it come to this? 

“I don’t want to remember.” The festival was yesterday. He knew that. (Did he?) He had woken up, fed his cats, grabbed his books, and then–

_ What happened at the festival? _

Something had gone wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was the festival.

Ranboo pulled out one of his books. Unassuming brown leather-bound together with careful hands. The pages were well used. He brushed his fingers over the worn cover, the feeling of the book still comforting despite its contents. 

“Why can’t I forget?” He mumbled, turning the first page. Pages and pages and friends and enemies and pages and memories and–

_ It’s all gone. _

Sitting numbly on the floor of his panic room, the full realization of what just happened threatened to overpower him. The dust may have settled in L’Manberg, but there was still so much up in the air.

“It’s all gone.” The whisper dissipated into silence, snuffed out by the secure (unforgiving) obsidian that surrounded him. 

Ranboo picked up his quill from where it sat nestled between two pages in his most recent book. He tapped it against the page. There was something he had wanted to write. What was it? (What was the point of writing? Why not get rid of it?)

The tip of the feather scratched on the page, writing, then stopping.

_ Friends _

He paused. Who were his friends again? (Did he have any?)

Ranboo flipped back several pages, names flashing out against the backdrop of memories. Niki, Tubbo, Fundy, Quackity. Tommy, Philza, Techno. Dream. He went back to his newest page. Who could he write down? (Did he even want to write anyone down?)

“Do I have any friends right now?” 

Tubbo and the rest of the cabinet couldn’t be trusted. They had been questionable before, but hearing them plot against Dream even after their entire country had been reduced to rubble was unsettling. Quackity in particular had completely latched on to the idea of Dream being the enemy. (He still wore the apron. The unsettling red stains had multiplied.) Besides, they stood for L’Manberg. What was left of it. Ranboo didn’t want to ally himself with L’Manberg anymore. (Was he ever truly allied with L’Manberg? He was a traitor after all. He burned down the community house, didn’t he?)

It was written on the signs. People, not places. Ranboo could trust the signs.

Niki was also off the list. As much as it pained him, she had chosen a side. Sides weren’t people. (He tried to forget the crazed look in her eyes when she had declared herself to be against L’Manberg. Eye contact was terrifying enough when you could trust the person you were looking at.)

Tommy . . . Tommy was his friend. Right? Tommy, who helped show him around the SMP. Tommy, who he had visited in exile. (Tommy, who hadn’t invited him to the beach party.) Tommy, who was allied with L’Manberg. Ranboo grimaced. Tommy was Tubbo’s friend. Tommy had picked a side. (He couldn’t trust Tommy.)

Ranboo tried to think back to the battle, clinging to the hazy memories of destruction and fighting. There had been so many sides. Who was with who again? He didn’t remember. He flipped back to the names. Philza. Techno. Dream.

Philza had helped him. Ranboo knew that for certain. They had been neighbors as well. He had faint images of late nights spent laughing between balconies, bonding over things he couldn’t remember. (He tried not to think of the fact that both houses had been lost in the rubble of a nation that was in shambles from the beginning.) Philza was his friend, right? (Philza destroyed L’Manberg.)

Techno was dangerous. Every interaction Ranboo had ever had with the man had involved some form of violence. (Only some of it had been directed at him.) Ranboo wasn’t sure if they were friends. (The book in his hands still had flecks of Soulsand from when Techno had given it back during the battle.) He flicked back through a few pages.  _ A friend of Philza is a friend of mine. _ Techno and Philza were friends. Weren’t they? 

Dream was the reason. (Reason for what?) The signs said so. He couldn’t trust Dream.

He left the list blank. 

Water slowly dripped from the ceiling, a few droplets landing on the pages. Small wet tracks burned down the sides of his face. (The drips weren’t from the ceiling, were they.) Ranboo slipped the quill back in between the pages, gently closing it. He stared down at the book in his hands, his sole resource of everything that had happened since he joined the server. People could be trusted to tell a narrative. Ranboo had only ever written down facts. (His story was forgotten.) He was just the minutes man, after all, taking notes in books no one would ever read. (He almost didn’t want anyone else to read them.) Why did he still have them?

A flint and steel sat cold and heavy in his inventory. Why was he here again?

He couldn’t remember. (He wanted to forget.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on Scarves of Red I swear, I'm gonna try to update it this weekend, but I've had a doc with "Haha Ranboo morality crisis" in it for WEEKS and then Doomsday happened and I was like oop-
> 
> Anyway, I love this funky little enderman child, someone get him a goddamn Therapy Arc
> 
> Kudos and comments make brain go brrrt, I love all of you :D


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